Vanessa said, “Let’s just hope this is the right place.”
The went inside the dusty—rather than salmon—pink building and were relieved to see signs in English. Vanessa headed for a desk and got directions to the radiology department.
“Good English,” she said with relief as Alex joined her and they wended their way through corridors switching first right then left before a long corridor led them to double doors. On the door was a notice, the English of which said: Ancient Egyptian Research Department, Cairo Museum. Vanessa and Alex exchanged glances and nods and pushed open the door. The same sign was on the third door to the right, above which was a permanent sign: C.T. Unit. They entered to find the next door locked, with a sign asking them to ring for attention.
Vanessa pressed a doorbell, and seconds later a young lady in blue scrubs opened the door. She stepped through and smiled.
“We’re looking for Marek Borevsek, Alex began. “He’s a—”
“Oh yes.” The woman beamed, although the waggle of her head seemed a contradiction. She asked them to wait and disappeared through the door again.
“My friends,” Marek said as he appeared. He shook their hands warmly. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Only a few minutes.”
Alex had looked over Marek’s shoulder as he came through the door and was disappointed not to see anything. He said, “What are you working on? Can we take a quick look?”
Marek shook his head. “I am sorry, but you know how sensitive this is, and I must be quick. Really, there should be a security presence, but we are lucky.” He opened the door so that they could see. They followed his indication and saw a room to the right filled with more people in blue scrubs. One man stood to the side, a machine gun across his chest.
“Security,” Marek explained with a nod in the man’s direction.
Alex recognized the main feature of the room as an MRI scanner behind which was a body on a table.
Marek said, “We are scanning a group of unnamed mummies. After the success of using it with Hatshepsut’s identification, my professor has been allowed to try and identify others. I am so sorry I cannot join you on the train, but I will catch up, hopefully later tomorrow. I must just finish up here first though.” He shook their hands again before darting back inside.
“Wow!” Vanessa said. “I told you I’d seen the Queen Hatshepsut documentary, right?”
“Shame we couldn’t have had a closer look,” Alex said as they retraced their steps.
“But you’re happier now?”
“Yeah. I guess yesterday I didn’t like the way he didn’t acknowledge that the breakthrough with the Amarna Letters was because of me. Ellen showed me those symbols and I recognized there was a hidden numerical meaning. I’m sure she told him.”
Vanessa pulled his arm so that he swung around and looked at her. She was grinning. “In history, how often do researchers and inventors complain that someone else stole their idea? Or, for that matter, didn’t acknowledge their contribution?”
“All the time.”
“And you are just as guilty of pride. Don’t worry, I’ll tell the true story, whether Marek acknowledges you or not.”
“It’s what we find that matters.” Now it was his turn to smile. “Come on. Back to the hotel, freshen up, and then we’ve a train to catch.”
FORTY-FOUR
1332 BCE, near Elephantine
The magistrate was subdued during prayers and his review of the scheduled case. He squinted against the morning sun, as though its rays could pierce his tender brain, and walked slowly to the scene of the incident. A damaged ferry-raft was tethered at the water’s edge, and beside it a town official, Overseer of the Waterways, waited for them to approach before stepping from beneath his sun shade and bowing a greeting.
The magistrate said quietly, “Is this the ferry?”
“It is, My Lord Khety. It is of basic construction, operated by a ferryman and his junior, who pull the raft across using a rope strung from bank to bank. As you can see, the ferry can comfortably take ten people, but on the day of the accident there were at least sixteen people on board.”
“How many died?”
“Four passengers and the junior ferryman.”
“How many bodies were retrieved?”
“Just one. The others are unaccounted for, swallowed by the torrent of the Great River—or worse…”
In a rush of horror, Yanhamu expected the official to continue with a speculation about the deaths, and he feared the memory of his sister’s death. He interrupted, saying, “My lord, we should examine the ferry.”
The magistrate looked disapproving at the interruption, but he just waved his hand to indicate they should go and see the raft. He stood on the bank as Yanhamu climbed on board, paced out the size and checked the construction. He stepped off and the others waited as he wrote notes on the papyrus.
The magistrate asked, “Are there other crossings close by?”
“This is the only raft ferry. There are a number of small boats that operate along the bank here.”
“And their prices?”
The overseer looked perplexed. “I do not think that is relevant. The ferryman is guilty of overfilling his craft. The guide rope was old and could not take the strain of the heavy raft in the fast-flowing waters. Please forgive my rudeness, My Lord Khety, but the case is straightforward, the ferryman is responsible and should be sentenced.”
“Are you a judge now?” the magistrate bellowed, and Yanhamu saw him wince afterwards with regret at the pain caused by the effort.
“No. I just thought—”
“Then don’t think!”
Yanhamu whispered, “My lord, we should see the guide rope.”
The magistrate instructed the overseer to show them the rope that had once strung across the river.
“It is not here,” the official responded.
The magistrate established that the rope had been taken away and disposed of. He insisted that a runner be sent to locate it and, while they waited in the shade erected by Hapuseneb, the magistrate removed his wig and used a damp cloth to wipe cool his shaved head and neck.
“What do you think, Yani?” It was the first time the magistrate had called Yanhamu by his familiar name. In fact, the last time he had heard it, his sister had been alive.
At first his voice caught with emotion. “My lord?”
“What’s going on here? I would like your opinion.”
“I do not like the fact that the rope has been taken away. It is important in this case. And the overseer has not filled me with trust.”
“Is that your prejudice talking or your logic?”
Yanhamu thought for a moment and glanced over at the Overseer of the Waterways. The man looked worried. “My logic, I think. For the trial, I know it is not planned, but I suggest you ask the overseer to speak as well as the ferryman.”
Before the magistrate commented, he pointed towards two sweating boys as they returned with the heavy coiled rope over their shoulders.
When it was laid before the magistrate, both he and Yanhamu examined it. Both ends were cut through.
The magistrate called for the overseer to account for the cuts.
The official said, “To remove the rope we had to cut it free.”
“But to see evidence that the rope snapped, I would need to see the frayed end.”
The official spoke urgently to an assistant, who in turn spoke to others before returning and spoke to the overseer.
“We do not know where the frayed end is.”
The magistrate shook his head. “That was key evidence and there is no explanation for cutting the end that was frayed if the rope was to be destroyed. Without this evidence I will not try this case.” He waved to the slave who started to dismantle the sunshade.
“But…” the official said as he scurried after the magistrate who had begun to walk back to the town. “People died and their relatives need someone to atone for the murders!”
<
br /> The magistrate stopped and, with his face close, gave the official a withering stare. He whispered, “Do not press me, for you may regret the outcome of further investigation.”
The overseer stepped back, bowed and stood still as the magistrate and his entourage returned to the town.
“Tell me what you think happened here,” the magistrate said to Yanhamu as they packed to return home.
“I don’t think there was ever a frayed end to that rope. I think it was deliberately cut and then removed so we wouldn’t see it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but a deliberate cut would mean someone intended for an incident and perhaps for the ferryman to be convicted. I would like to have asked the overseer if he was taking bribes. Perhaps the ferryman did not pay up?”
“I have no doubt the overseer is charging the operator—what I will call—a commission, but to challenge him in public without any evidence would have been a serious and unacceptable affront to his position. Of course, it could be one of the other operators…”
“Or the junior ferryman who had opportunity and whose motive may have been to take over the business.”
“And yet he died.”
“There is no evidence that he died, his body was not found.”
“Interesting.” The magistrate nodded and was deep in thought for the rest of the walk to the temporary accommodation.
After the magistrate had provided instructions for the preparation of their journey home. He readied himself for the pronouncement in the town square.
Yanhamu said, “May I ask what you will pronounce, my lord? Will you say it was an accident and that the ferryman has no case to answer for?”
The magistrate studied the young man. “That depends on you—whether you are still intending to leave.”
“My lord? I don’t understand.”
“I could leave the case open. If you stay with me, I will let you investigate further. You learned the Wisdom Texts by rote and you write as well as any scribe of your age. You have a natural talent and eye for justice, albeit naïve at times, and to have you die by a spear in some foreign field would be a travesty.”
“Are you saying I could be a magistrate one day? But I am low-born, my lord, I know I would never be accepted by society.”
“I have thought about that. My plan is to either adopt you as a son or approve your marriage to my daughter, Nefer-bithia. Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you two look at one another!”
Yanhamu was taken aback. Never in his wildest imaginings did he see himself accepted into a higher class. After he caught his breath, he said, “You are too generous, my lord.”
“No, I am a selfish old man who needs you. I need to pronounce my judgement now, so what is your answer. Will you stay?”
Yanhamu bowed and raised his hands from his knees to show extreme respect. “Master, I have made up my mind and know my destiny lies in another direction.” When he looked up, the magistrate had a tear in his eye.
“So you are bent upon revenge against this soldier. Is he still in the City of a Thousand Gates?”
“Two years ago he left. A promotion, I heard, to head the fortress at the border town of Gaza. That is where I will go.”
“You should learn to fight before you confront this man. Do not go to a common garrison; you are a good-looking boy and you know how soldiers can be!” Anyway, if you are to have any chance of survival in battle, you should go to the military academy in Memphis.”
“But, Master, that is for officers, and they will not take someone without good provenance.”
“Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?”
Yanhamu shook his head.
“Somehow I suspected not. Take this document to the military academy.” The magistrate handed him a scroll, sealed with the mark of the chief magistrate of the Land of the Arch, the first nome. “With my word they will have no choice but to enrol you.”
“Master.” Yanhamu repeated his bow, but the magistrate quickly strode from the courtyard and past Hapuseneb, who now stood like a statue by the gate. He watched as Yanhamu finished packing his shoulder bag.
“That is a bad omen, that is!” the slave said.
A cluster of sparrows fluttered frantically and inexplicably in one corner.
Yanhamu stepped towards the gate. “I don’t believe in omens.”
“We have never seen eye to eye, young Yanhamu. You were born a village peasant. You are not noble or even of artisan stock. However, I have accepted your elevation above me without protest and I recognize that his lordship has seen you have a good heart. Be safe on your life journey. Remember his lordship and, when you have tired of the army, if you are still alive, come back and check on him. Will you do that?”
“I will.”
The slave moved aside and let Yanhamu step into the street.
“Boy!” he called as Yanhamu started to walk away, and he ran up beside him. “You may not believe in bad omens, but I do and you’ll need something to ward them off.” He pulled something from his tunic and held it out, closed inside his fist. He placed a small bag into Yanhamu’s hand and for a moment held it there.
“I believe this belongs to an honest man,” he said.
Yanhamu opened the bag. Inside gleamed the unusual silver amulet: an eye inside a circle.
FORTY-FIVE
Ramses station—the Clapham Junction of Cairo—had twenty platforms. No one checked their ticket as they entered and, without understanding the signs, they were directed to platform eight, where their train was due. To their astonishment it arrived on time, but that wasn’t all that made them stare in disbelief. The solid blue carriages had no markings except for dents; the windows were small and so dirty they could hardly see in.
Relief struck them at the same time as they realized this was not their train. From time to time they could see cells through the windows. It was a prison train. It stopped briefly but no one got on. And no one got off.
Another train stopped twenty minutes later and someone, Alex took him for an armed porter, waved them back. “Second class,” he shouted.
Faces pressed against grimy windows. The doors opened inwards and passengers crammed into the doorways smoking heavily. As the train started to move, people still hung on to the door handles and the porter pushed them inside. The doors didn’t close.
Alex began to fidget, glancing up and down the platform. Then he choked.
“Shit!”
A man stood by a wall, partly obscured by a vending cabinet. When Alex had looked in his direction, the man deliberately looked away. That in itself wasn’t too alarming, but his face was hidden by a hoodie—out of place and too hot for Egypt.
Alex turned his back. “We’re being watched.”
Vanessa looked uncertain.
“Over my shoulder. By the wall. Man in a grey hoodie.”
Vanessa glanced and widened her eyes with concern. “He’s definitely out of place.”
“Stay with the bags.”
“I…”
Alex was already walking away. He headed towards the platform exit and descended the steps. At the bottom, he waited for a couple of minutes. When the man in the grey top didn’t appear, he tagged behind a group going up the steps. As he came onto the platform, he used them as a shield and then ducked behind another group.
Ahead, the man in the hoodie had moved to the other side of the vending unit and seemed to scan along the platform, from Vanessa to the exit. Watching her and looking for me, Alex thought.
As Alex stepped behind the wall to the block of waiting rooms, he spotted white skin under the hood. He circled the building, and as he came up on the opposite side there was an odd sense of familiarity about the man’s figure. And then Alex placed him.
He squeezed between two Arabs and lunged for the man in the hoodie. Grabbing the back of the hood, he jerked it away.
“Pete!”
His friend’s face went from shock to crumpled submission. “Hey… er… h
i, Alex.”
Alex kept hold of the back of Pete’s top. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Er… watching you?”
“Following!”
Pete shrugged. “Following you.”
“Why? For Christ’s sake, why?”
“Why’d you think?”
Alex’s head spun. Pete knew about the break-in, had helped him forge the plan, and had taken the Isis puzzle. He said, “You know Ellen hid the ceremonial block don’t you? It’ll be at Highclere, right? It’s not in Egypt.”
Pete laughed mirthlessly. “I know it’s not about finding the missing chunk of stone.”
“How…?”
“I know more than you think.”
Vanessa joined them and gawped at Pete. “You!”
Alex said, “He’s been following us. He must know.”
Pete gave Vanessa a wolfish grin. “More than Alex realizes. I’m part of the team.”
Alex stared at him. “What?”
A train pulled up at the platform. Vanessa and Alex picked up their bags.
As they moved, Pete followed.
“You don’t think that East End gang really planned the burglary, do you? Ha! I did that when Ellen told me she’d found something. Here’s the deal now, just as it was before: you let me in on this little treasure hunt of yours and I don’t tell the police that I know you arranged the break-in and forced me to help you.”
They looked at the train and saw it was another second-class one. Still not the right train.
Vanessa said, “I’m confused. Did you just confess to organizing the burglary?”
“Yes, but the police won’t know that and my witness statement will make them question everything again.” He jerked his hood out of Alex’s grip.
Vanessa looked at Alex. “What do you think? Is he telling the truth?”
Alex didn’t answer; he was thinking. He looked at Vanessa and back at Pete. “So was it you or your thugs who trashed my flat?”
The guards called and waved people to get on.
Map of the Dead: A mystery thriller that's a page turner Page 23